Tying Up the Ends
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary: Fifth in the 'Beautiful Insanity' series. Follows up from 'Brilliant, Vast, Undying' Kirk/Spock, mentions of Chekov/Sulu


Disclaimer: Belongs to people. Who aren't me.

* * *

She slides into the turbolift like a serpent past the closing door. There is a moment of silence between you, and she uses it to take up a perfect regulation pose next to you; posture ramrod straight, arms folded behind her back, and feet shoulder width apart. You know this is premeditated, the sinking inside you all-consuming. Her hand is almost a blur to the control panel, freezing the lift in time. She faces you now, same bearing, but dead on.

(ohshitohshitohshit)

"If you hurt him, Kirk, I'll gut you, string your intestines along the length of the ship, douse you in lemon juice and salt and then space what's left of your sorry ass."

You are quick to offer Uhura as many hasty agreements as it takes to get her intense (burning) gaze to soften. (Scared like a little girl you are, and man enough to admit it)

"I'm glad we had this chat, Captain." The lift moves on and she disembarks.

It takes you a second to compose yourself long enough to start the lift again.

* * *

You find him in one of the holographic recreation rooms.

He's shed his command-gold (crumpled and forgotten on the floor) leaving him only in his black undershirt and slacks.

He is currently smashing dishes. (A wild, frenetic look about him as he flings china against walls, ceiling, floor, melodic chiming of broken pieces a serenade to destruction.)

You allow him another few minutes in silence. When he finishes, his homemade program self-terminates and the masses of shattered porcelain flicker and disappear.

(Sometimes Spock, you just have to break things to feel better.)

He turns abruptly to leave, ignoring your presence.

(Chekov is still in medbay, held together by tubes and wires, Sulu standing vigil. The away mission could not have gone more wrong)

He walks just past you, then stops. When he leans backwards into you, tipping his head onto your shoulder, you can feel the tension that shakes his whole frame.

(You don't need your touch-telepathy to hear the guilt he carries singing in every vein. Captaincy has its price, paid in the sacrifices made by loyal crew.)

You allow your head to fall back onto his shoulder, eyes closing, hair mixing where your heads touch. Back to back you stand, offering your strength to hold him up as he trembles against you.

(You know he does not cry, although he wishes to)

* * *

You smile until your face hurts, making small talk with this world's newly elected leader, a flute of ambiguous celebratory drink in your hand.

(You hate diplomacy, you really really do)

Your (beautiful half-Vulcan) First is across the room, stoic and composed as always as he engages some Official or another.

He senses your gaze and your eyes meet, and you can almost hear his teeth grinding (if Vulcans ever deigned to display such obvious frustration) and you are forced to suppress a laugh.

(He hates diplomacy too, despite how good you both have become at it.)

Your smile is more genuine now.

He rescues you a short time later, making polite excuses to return to your ship. You allow him to lead you from the room, his hand gentle on the small of your back (You are alive and warm and happy in that little touch)

He deliberately caresses your fingers with his own the moment before you're beamed up.

(The slight green blush on the tips of his ears is ridiculously endearing)

* * *

The first time is amazing (sweat-slick skin and hands clasped and mouths kissing, like a meteor impact, like an inferno, like an unbridled force of nature)

You fumble a little, both of you new to this, to each other, and for the first time you laugh, truly laugh during sex. It's so much fun, you decide to make it a habit.

(He is far more playful and passionate that you'd pictured. This is very much not disappointing to you)

His fingers find your face and your minds meet. Everything gains a new dimension, a new weight. You intertwine, looping a heavy red rope around yourselves, to bind yourselves together, and in your ecstasy you glow.

After you curl into each other, you feel him both stretched against you and (calmquietcontented) in the back of your mind.

(Even without the bond, you could never leave him, not if you wanted to survive)

When you sleep, your dreams are wonderful, shared things.

(Sunlight and lush gardens and each other, together and always)

* * *

Finale posted: 'Ten Thousand Infinities'


End file.
